


History Will Lift You Up

by CrowQueen



Series: No Heroes With Capes [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Don't Have to Know Canon, Dragon Age: Origins - The Darkspawn Chronicles DLC, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The Chronicles were wasted potential and I'm here to rectify that, don't expect canon compliance of characters depiction, this started as a joke between friends yet here we are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29984025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowQueen/pseuds/CrowQueen
Summary: Bad things happen when he leads. They get lost, someone dies, he wakes up somewhere stranded and without pants. So no, Alistar doesn't want to lead as much as he wants to marry a mabari covered in Darkspawn guts, no chance of happening whastoever.Lucky thing Fate shoved a wolf and a shapeshifter at his side while making him leader, no?ORReimagining of The Darkspawn Chronicles that isn't just dark, gloom and total annihilation.
Series: No Heroes With Capes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2205555
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	History Will Lift You Up

**Author's Note:**

> What started as a joke request of a friend for me to rewrite Dragon Age: Inquisition as become a behemoth-sized project of rewrite the whole trilogy, the very first draft of this story dates 2018 when I was a second-year freshman at uni (thank you COVID for postponing my graduation by two years /s) but this has been sitting on the backburner since while I tackled other projects due to the sheer amount of research and care I wanted to put into it.
> 
> This means updates will be sporadical, though I'll try to do it every month or so. I'll also try to post warnings on my Tumblr (lua-prateada) so you can find me there, and accompany the progress of the drafted chapters.
> 
> Having said that, I'd like to thank for the bottom of my heart all my friends that gave me feedback over the snippets I sent, but in special Kazimir for being such an enthusiastic beta despite knowing nothing of the games, and Zero for putting up with endless hours of rambles about the lore and the plot of these stories.

She took a perch in the middle of the camp, high on top of a marble canopy. Her curiosity over large agglomerations getting the best of her. Flemeth had always told her that men would fruitlessly prepare against the Blight, each country in its own manner instead of uniting under the Grey Warden banner. That for their hubris they would fall, as it always was.  
But these men didn’t seem to be acting that way. Not the ‘high and mighty humankind standing alone against the Blight’ type of warriors Morrigan would have expected from the tales.

These men looked afraid. Even the templars in their midst, stood too tense in their polished armours. Their eyes would jitter towards the source of whatever sound happened in the woods around them. After several skirmishes with darkspawn along the week, she would have expected them to be able to differentiate a darkspawn crawling from beneath the earth, and a random squirrel dropping an acorn.  
It unnerved her. Morrigan had fought men like this before. Had _killed_ men like these, long before she stood taller than her own staff — and her mother said she still had inches to grow — and never had those men wore such a look upon their faces. Those only appeared when Flemeth made herself known.  
The utter terror of being faced with a monster _you knew_ would kill you in the gruesomest way possible. Though her mother rarely got her own hands dirty for such fear to be reasonable.  
Even the quiet resignation of the Ash Warriors unnerved her.

While it was true that the Blight brought along some of the most horrid ways to die, or to live, if the darkspawn got their hands on you. Not all was lost — now she loathed the situation even more for making her sound like a commoner — this was not the first Blight upon Thedas. Where none knew how to deal with darkspawn. Where the secret to killing the archdemon had yet to be found, a world without Grey Wardens.  
This was the _fifth_ Blight. Thedas had dealt with four before. There shouldn’t be such palpable fear in the air. Not when Morrigan could spot the silver and blue armour-clad warriors walking around, and blue banners emblazoned with silver griffons flew proudly next to Ferelden’s banner.

She watched the coming and going of people for a few moments more. Soldiers carried bits of armour, swords and shields, bows and quivers full of arrows. Mabaris, with the most intricate patterns painted on their short fur, followed Ash Warriors around. Servants, with barrels full of ale and mead, boxed full of fruits, vegetables and meats. Her mouth watering at the sight of some of the more exotic fruits being hauled around. Lay brothers built a small platform from which to preach, and lay sisters sang the Chant of Light over corpses wrapped in canvas and rope. The noise grated her ears.

A glint of gold caught her attention. Stepping out of the largest orange tent, a man with strawberry blond hair and pale skin, that Morrigan would bet her weight in gold rarely saw sunlight. His armour was golden from head to toe, the effigy of a dragon’s head adorned his breastplate, it seemed to glitter and shine even in the cool white sun of the Korcari Wilds.

She knew better than to approach. Her mother’s warnings rang in her mind, much like her own instincts tensing her muscles. Yet something compelled her forward. Something about this man — _boy_ , he hardly looked older than herself — sang itself to her, and Morrigan wouldn’t be herself if she didn’t dare try and find out.

Dropping from her high perch, the boy was less than three flaps of her wings away from her. Petting some slobbering mabari in front of him. Perching on his shoulder plate, she let out a small squawk while leaning to see his face.

“Well, hello little friend!” His voice was soft and warm, despite all, she didn’t mind the cheery tone of it. “I suppose I caught your attention, didn’t I? Sorry about that, but this is too big for your nest.”

She cocked her head to the side. What Fereldan _ever_ would apologise to wild birds?

“You like gold so much even your eyes are golden!” He mused with childlike wonder, a grin splitting his face as he turned around. “Loghain! Look at this raven!”

Never had she wanted to roll her eyes as a bird so much as this moment. At least somebody seemed unbothered by the worldwide threat of infectious zombies.

He walked up to a black-haired man. Grey steel armour similar in style to his, though it lacked the effigy decoration — or any for that matter. His armour was well polished, but lacked the blinding shine of the boy’s. It showed battle damage far older than this Blight, no doubt having been worn against the Orleasian back before Morrigan had been born.  
This was a seasoned warrior, of high station if the similarities between their armours was anything to go by. A deep scowl seemed carved on his face rivalled Flemeth’s own whenever Morrigan said something utterly idiotic, thought it flickered to anger at the sight of her.

“Cailan, _what_ are you _doing_?” His voice was gruff as he tried to shoo her away. “Get this bird away from the camp.”

Cailan took a step back, a frown on his face. “It’s just a raven.”

“Has your father not taught you anything?” Loghain groaned. “Never trust golden eyes, they’re the witch’s pawns.”

Now Morrigan wanted nothing more than to peck his eyes out for even _suggesting_ such a thing. But it’d be foolish to let reveal herself, especially in the middle of the camp. Let them believe she was merely a familiar.  
It was when the words filtered in. She inclined her head to the side. In no tales, Flemeth’s golden eyes were mentioned. So both this man, and the boy’s father had met Flemeth before. What had been their names again? They were starting to sound familiar.

Cailan offered her his gauntleted hand as a perch. He had the brightest of grins on his face as he raised her to his face. Staring at her.

“Is it true? Can you get me to talk with Flemeth?”

She held back from laughing. What an odd boy he was.

“Great, the King of Ferelden talking with birds.”

 _Oh_ , so _this_ was Maric’s boy! That changed the game she could play with him quite significantly. Perhaps she could persuade her mother into welcoming a small piece of conversation with him. Or her mother could come up with a plan that would allow her out of the wilds.  
Being a court mage could be interesting. Even more with her heritage being well-known.

.

“ _What_?”

She held herself from cowering back. “I overheard the King proposing a search for you. Thought ‘twas worth the warning.”

“What were _you_ doing so close to camp you ‘overheard’ Maric’s boy mumbling about fairytales?”

The fairytale in question looked a bit too angry to be _just_ that. There was something else that angered her mother, but Morrigan couldn’t think of.  
Her safety had stopped being one of her mother’s concerns after Morrigan had slain her first templar. Nor Flemeth ever thought her dumb enough to let herself be found out in a camp filled with all manners of people, _templars_ included.

“I was simply curious.” Morrigan offered, biting the inside of her cheek. “ ‘Tis not every year we see a Blight.”

Flemeth grabbed the kettle from the fire. “Certainly feels like it, girl.”

The sigh that followed made Morrigan relax again. Her mother would not keep pressing the issue further.

“Not all live as long as you, mother.”

Flemeth chuckled. Pouring the hot water on their cups, the herbs already perfuming the air. “ _You_ will, girl, if I have any say in that matter.”

A shiver ran up her spine. How she hated whenever Flemeth spoke like that, though she never lingered much in the subject to ask herself why. It was certainly _possible_ that she would live just as long as Flemeth, if the only thing keeping her alive was her own magic. Their magic was unique, and it could allow for a longer lifespan to be a side effect. But Morrigan knew that her magic was not the only thing keeping Flemeth alive for so long.  
Perhaps her uneasiness had to do with the fact that she had yet to find out _how_ and _what_ would that entail. Would it mean leaving Flemeth behind and moving to another wild? Or her mother would leave instead? Part of her was more than happy to do so. Eager to spread her wings farther than she was allowed to now. Though another part of her wasn’t so keen on leaving. What would she do?

_Best not dwell on it._

Grabbing her cup, she watched the herbs swirl in the now dark red water inside. Blowing air on it before taking a sip. Still, she yelped, the hot tea burning her tongue.

Flemeth let out a peal of laughter, shaking her head. “Patience, girl.” She leaned forward and tapped Morrigan's cup, and a few ice crystals formed on the surface. Quickly melting away. “When will you learn?”

“In due time, mother.” Flemeth chuckled at her response. She took another sip, her tea now at a more tolerable temperature. “Will you consider the King’s request?”

Morrigan held her breath, waiting for the inevitable denial of it. Watching Flemeth turn quiet, contemplative. Merely drinking her tea. No quips, remarks, admonishing her foolishness at the suggestion. Nothing. Most unusual for her.

“Fetch him first thing in the morning.”

Her mother’s tone was strict, lacking its usual lilt. Eyes set on the fire in front of them. Somehow looking more unnatural than what was usual.

“Don’t bother concealing yourself once you are in the Wilds. You need to guide him safely here.” she continued. “We can’t afford to have our King die before his time, no matter if in the end it will have no difference.”

“Men die only when ‘tis their time, never sooner or later.” Morrigan parroted. “ ‘Tis what you always say.”

Flemeth’s eyes snapped back to her, a soft smile forming. “Indeed I do, but Fate favours the bold and cautious, my girl.”

Morrigan nodded, looking down at the teacup in her hands. The leaves had settled at the bottom, regardless of her movements. Her mother’s tea always had that weird quality to it.

“Mine did not form anything in particular.” Flemeth offered, taking a final swing.

She frowned, trying to make out shapes from it. “Mine looks like a tree? Perhaps more like—”

“A dragon?”

Morrigan’s eyes flickered up towards her mother. _What_ was she implying?

“Dragons bring change, their blood is the world’s,” Flemeth spoke, before pinching Morrigan’s cheek. “Would do you good to remember it.”

Morrigan couldn’t help the groan. Slapping Flemeth’s hand away before massaging her cheek. “Yes, mother.”

Silence fell over them again. Just the sounds of the forest and the cracking of burning wood before Flemeth let out another chuckle.

“Would you wager Loghain will follow along like a loyal puppy, or do I scare him too much?”

.

She flew as fast as her wings and the wind would carry her. The sun barely cracked above the horizon, and their hut stood a few miles away from the ruins of Ostagar to waste any time with a scenic flight. Given she had spent those extra moments fumbling for clothes. She had to look her best if she planned to play along with the boy’s impression of her kind. Even if Flemeth had laughed and waved her off when she noticed the trinkets Morrigan had braided into her hair.   
So she put most of her energy in willing the wind to carry her faster to make up for it. When Flemeth told her to do something, Morrigan knew better than to not give her best and do so at the first opportunity. Lest she wanted to bear her mother's punishment for failing.

The camp was still mostly asleep when she arrived. It made it easier for her to slip inside Cailan’s tent as a cat. The guards in front did not notice her, for they were half-asleep themselves. Were she some bard or assassin, this would've been the perfect situation to kill the King and none would be the wiser until much later along the day. Good thing she was not there for that.

Cailan stirred when she jumped on his bed, almost purring at the softness of his feather-stuffed covers. His hand reached out blindly and scratched her ear before cracking one eye open. Sitting up, wide awake when he noticed her.

“Golden eyes!” He grinned, holding her up to his face. “So Flemeth agreed?”

She let out a meow. It was all the confirmation Cailan needed. Putting her down before jumping out of bed in his small clothes. Morrigan had to admit, even if just to herself, he was quite good-looking. As his father was if her mother’s stories were right.

He placed a plate filled with scraps of meat next to her, while he wrestled with putting his shirt on. “Here, as thanks for the help you are giving me. I’m sorry for not having any fish to give you.”

Morrigan stared at the plate, half considering to indulge it. The smell much more inviting while in cat form, along with the fact that she had forgone her breakfast to arrive here as fast as she could. But she could already imagine all manner of awkward questions that would arise once she shed this form.  
She pushed the plate away. Best not to.

Cailan fumbled with his armour so much that Morrigan considered shifting back to help him. Instead, she only curled up further, amusing herself with the muttered curses he spoke. Eventually he leaned his head out of the tent, whispering something to the guards stationed outside. One bolted away, towards the other tents. The other stepped inside to help Cailan with his armour.

She had nearly dozed off between the softness of the blankets, and the scratching of her neck Cailan did absentmindedly. Until Loghain stormed inside the tent, catching both off-guard. Cailan yanked his hand away from her while she jumped up, fur standing on its end before she relaxed again with an annoyed growl once she took notice of Loghain standing in front of them. The thought of Loghain sleeping in his armour to avoid the trouble of getting dressed crossed her mind. It explained his bad mood as well.  
This meant Cailan planned to follow her with Loghain by side. Not that he would need to worry about darkspawn nor all the othe creatures that made the Wilds their home with her around.

“What is it? You are never awake this early.”

“Look!” Cailan raised her to Loghain’s face. “Flemeth sent another!”

Loghain scoffed. “You can’t really believe that.”

“Yet it’s true, isn’t it, kitty?” He turned her back to him. Smiling at her meow of confirmation. “Show us the way.”

Cailan dropped her on the floor, and she slinked past Loghain, ignoring their discussion. Knowing that they followed by their voices and the clunking of their armours. It remained the sole source of sound once they crossed the gates. The guards had puzzled looks on their faces but remained quiet despite it, none would dare question the King, after all.

A few more moments passed before the sound of crunching leaves by her left caught her attention. Purple smoke gave away to her wolf form once she took notice of the wound wolf deep in the bushes. It limped away, trying to avoid them.  
She heard Cailan’s gasp of wonder, but paid it no mind. The paint flaking off of its fur let her know it was a Chasind wolf. Its hunter dead at the hands of darkspawn or Blighted animals no doubt. Morrigan called out to it. Head down to appear non-threatening, knowing she stood taller than the average wolf. Later she could find wild flowers that would give it a chance to fight off the Taint, but now she could at least try to heal those wounds. Somewhat, she was far from being a good healer.

The wolf raised its ears before limping towards her, exiting the thick foliage. It whined in pain as Loghain unsheathed his sword.  
She turned around out of instinct, baring her teeth at Loghain. Snarling, the fur around her neck standing. Flemeth told her to protect the King, but had not mentioned anything about keeping Loghain alive.

“I would put away your sword, Loghain.” Cailan's voice rang serious by her side.

Loghain grumbled something beneath his breath, but sheathed his sword. The tales about him sure neglected to mention how unpleasant he could be. Thankfully, her mother’s tales did not.

Once the wolf was close enough, she shifted back to her human form. It leaned back, surprised, but after sniffing the air, it approached. Its wounds were deep, slash marks made by jagged blades. She could mend them, unfortunately not in a painless way.

A purple glow enveloped her hand as she tended to each wound. It whined and bared its teeth, but did not move. Not its first time being healed by magic, a shaman had tended to it before. The wolf licked her hands once she finished. Remaining at her side when she got up. It seems she was its new hunter.

Morrigan turned around to them with a sneer. “If you care to follow _without_ drawing arms.”

Cailan gaped, wide eyed. “Are you Flemeth?”

Before she could answer, Loghain scoffed. “Of course not.”

“The _farmer’s son_ is right, I am not.” Her eyes focused on Loghain. “Mother is quite eager to see you again.”

He managed to deepen his frown. So Loghain wanted distance from Flemeth. Far from an unusual reaction she’d assume.

 _I warned Maric that Loghain would never stop betraying him._ Flemeth’s words rang in her mind. _Surely he fears the son will hear the same and heed them._

“Mother.” Cailan repeated, slack-jawed. “Flemeth is your mother.”

“Quite indeed.” Morrigan gestured towards the thicker part of the forest. “Shall we?”

.

The walk remained quiet for some time, much to her surprise. Part of her had expected the King to go off on a spree of questions, fast enough to dizzy her. Ask her which legends were true, what were mere myth, and what had been forgotten by others. Yet, Cailan and Loghain tailed after her without a word, while the wolf stayed by her side. Wagging his tail.

“What may I call you?”

She half-turned to glance at Cailan. “Other than ‘Witch of the Wilds’?”

He chuckled, walking faster to match her pace. “You _do_ have a name, yes?”

“I do.”

Cailan skipped in front, stopping to make a bow. “I am Cailan Theirin, my lady.”

“I know.” ‘Twas all she replied, walking past him.

“You were also that raven, were you not?”

Loghain’s question made her stop. Turning to him, Morrigan smirked. Was all the answer she provided, but it seemed sufficient by the nod she received in return. And was all the question that had been required for Cailan to launch his own stream of inquiries.

“How many forms do you have?”

She shrugged. “Many forest creatures.”

“Does Flemeth really turn into a dragon?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Cailan joined his hand. “ _Please_ , my lady.”

She raised an eyebrow. The _King_ of Ferelden, a _Theirin_ , _begging_ to her? This was certainly interesting. She may have been raised in the Wilds, but even her knew that that had been a far cry from how a king should behave. Though the little she had observed of him made it less surprising. If he kept on this path of predictability, Morrigan knew where it would end far too well.

Morrigan shook her head, sighing in resignation. “She can.”

His chuckle of delight brought forth a smile she had to fight back. Morrigan could remember her giddiness at the first time she saw her mother shape-shifting into one, how much she had pestered for Flemeth to teach her. Until her mother told her she wasn’t ready for it yet, and wouldn’t be for many years to come. She only hoped not to wait for many more.

Cailan grinned, matching her pace again. “That is wonderful! Can _you_ , my lady?”

“Not yet.” She watched the bounce in his step. “Morrigan.”

Cailan stopped. “What?”

“My name is Morrigan.”

.

“Mother,” Morrigan gestured to Cailan and Loghain. “Your visitors.”

Flemeth shook her head, “I only intend to speak with the boy playing king.”

“I _am_ king.”

“You have on your head a crown that doesn’t quite fit, nor it ever will.” Flemeth said. “This crown was never meant to be yours, boy.”

He opened his mouth to retort but Flemeth held her hand up. She then motioned for him to follow her, before walking towards some of the Tevinter ruins. Things Morrigan wasn’t meant to hear, apparently.  
Loghain made to follow them, but a simple raised eyebrow from Flemeth kept him in place. It wasn’t meant for him either, though that much she knew. And Flemeth _did_ terrify him so, interesting fact to know. Information to be kept for a more opportunous situation.

Morrigan shook her head, she had better things to focus on now. Like searching around the stilts holding their hut up for the familiar white and orange flower she had used many times to treat animals that came in contact with the Taint. Someday she could bother to test if some concoction with it would be able to cure people as well, but she was no healer to even know where to start. As far as plans went, she would use Grey Wardens for test subjects. Surely _they_ would be the most interested in a cure.

The wolf jumped around her, sniffing every tool she touched and the cauldron boiling the flowers. A curious one was he. He dropped his head on her lap once she was done, nudging at her hand for her to scratch his ear. Letting out a satisfied growl once she did.

“What are you doing?” Loghain made himself known again.

“A poultice with wild flowers.” she explained. “He fought darkspawn.”

“So it will die. Our Ash Warriors have lost many mabaris that way.”

Morrigan scoffed. “Fools is what they are. These flowers can heal if given in the right time.”

He watched her for a moment, before glancing at the wolf. “And how can you know the time is right for it?”

“Fresh wounds.”

The cauldron bubbled up. She got up, scooping some of the potion in the mix of herbs she had macerated into a paste. The potion had been orange, turning dark red in contact with the paste.

“The Blight is no natural thing,” she said, slowly cooling the concoction. “And this wolf had no choice in whether or not to be infected, he only wanted to protect his hunter.”

“So only animals deserve your mercy?”

“Animals do not wish to kill me because they fear magic, animals do not wish to lock me in a Circle. Nor do the Chasind that seek our help.” Morrigan turned her attention back to Loghain. “ _You_ managed to taint even some of the Dalish. So no, not only animals. Just wilders and those in chains.”

He scoffed, “How very idealistic for a _witch_.”

“Believe what you will, I do not require your approval.” Morrigan shrugged. “Wilders have to look after one another, no one else will.”


End file.
